Moore's Irish melodies

FROM THE

RICHARD BLACK SEWALL FUND

Digitized by the Internet Archive

in 2014

https://archive.org/details/mooresirishmelod02stev

MOORE'S

IRISH MELODIES

WITH

THE CELEBEATED J^TSTJD U JSrSTTZRI^SSEID

SYMPHONIES AN

J

n

MPANIMENTS

OF

SIR JOHN STEVENSON, Mus. Doc,

AND

SIR HENRY BISHOR

illustrate bg Sfonttn ©rijgiol £tccl ©ujra&itigs,

AFTER W. P. FRITH, R.A., A. ELMORE, R.A. &c.

WITH y BIOGRAPHY OF THOMJIS MOORJ,

AND

AN ESSAY ON THE MUSIC OF IRELAND,

" Cold, cold, must the heart be,
And void of emotion.
That loves not the music
Of Erin-go-bragh I"

THE LONDON PRINTING AND PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED, LONDON;
AND A. W. GITTENS, NEW YORK.

2

TO LADIES' EYES.

193

TO LADIES' EYES.

In moderate time and with spirit.
8va. •

AIR— PAGUE A BAIXAGH.

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To La - dies' eyes a - round, Boy, We can't re - fuse, we can't re - fuse, Tho'

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bright eyes so a - bound, Boy, 'T is hard to choose, 't is hard to choose. For

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thick as stars that light - en Yon air

y bow'rs, yon air - y bow'rs, The

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count - less eyes that bright - en This earth of ours, this earth of ours. But

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194

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

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fill the cup, wher-e'er, Boy, Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, We're

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sure to find Love there, Boy, So drink them all ! so drink them all !

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Some eyes there are, so ho - ly, They seem but giv'n, they seem but giv'n, As

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splen - did bea - cons, sole - ly, To light to heav'n, to light to heav'n! While

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TO LADIES' EYES.

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some — oh ! ne'er be - lieve them — With tempt - ing ray, with tempt - ing ray, "Would

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lead us (God for - give them !) The o - ther way, the o - ther way. But

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the cup, wher - e'er, Boy, Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, We're

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sure to find Love there, Bov, So drink them all ! so drink them all !

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In some, as in a mirror,

Love seems portray'd, Love seems portray' d,
But shun the flattering error,

'T is hut his shade, 't is but his shade.

Himself has fix'd his dwelling
In eyes we know, in eyes we know,

And lips — but this is telling.

So here they go ! so here they go !

Fill up, fill up, Ac.

196

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM.

With melancholy feeling, but not too slow.

AIR — LOUGH SHEELING.

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Come, rest in this bo - som, my own strick - en deer ! Tho' the

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herd have fled from thee, thy home is

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Here still is the

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smile that no cloud can o'er - cast, And the heart and the hand all thy

2nd verse.

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COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM.

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Oh ! what was love made for, if 't is not the same

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joy and through torments, through glo - ry £j^j shame ?

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ask not, if guilt's in that heart, I but know that I love thee, what-

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Thou hast called me thy Angel, in moments of bliss, —
Still thy Angel I '11 be, 'mid the horrors of this,
Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue,
And shield thee, and save thee, or perish there too

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198

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

TIS GONE, AND FOR EVER.

AIE— SATOUENAH DEELISH.

With feeling.

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'T IS GONE, AND FOR EVER.

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fled ! 'T is gone, and the gleams

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bond - age and mourn - ing, That dark o'er the king - doms of earth is re

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turn - ing, And, dark - est of alC' hap - less E - rin ! o'er thee.

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MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

2nd yekse.

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For high was thy hope, when those glo - ries were dart - ing A -

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round thee, through all the gross clouds

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of the world ; When Truth, from her

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fet - ters in - dig - nant - ly start - ing, At once, like a sun-burst,* her

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mo - ment so splen - did ! Then, then, had one Hymn of De

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• " The Sun-burst" was the fanciful name given by the ancient Irish to the Royal Banner.

T IS GONE, AND FOR EVER.

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liv - er - ance blend - ed The tongues of all na - tions, how sweet had as

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cend - ed The first note of Li - ber - ty, E

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rin ! from thee.

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But shame on those tyrants, who envied the blessing !

And shame on the light race, unworthy its good,
"Who, at Death's reeking altar, like furies caressing

The young hope of Freedom, baptized it in blood.
Then vanish'd for ever that fair, sunny vision,
"Which, spite of the slavish, the cold heart's derision,
Shall long be remember'd, pure, bright, and elysian,

As first it arose, my lost Erin ! on thee.

202

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

I SAW FROM THE BEACH.

In moderate time.

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AIR — MISS MOLLY.

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saw from the beach, when the morn - ing was shin - ing,

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bark o'er the wa - ters, move glo - rious -ly on ; I came when the sun o'er that

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beach was de - clin - ing, The bark was still there, but the wa - ters were gone ! I

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I SAW FROM THE BEACH.

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came when the sun o'er that beach was de - clin - ing, The bark was still there, but the

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wa - ters w

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ere gone !

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Ah ! such is the fate of our life's ear - ly pro - mise, So

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pass - ing the spring-tide of joy we have known ; Each wave that we danced on at

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morn - ing ebbs from us, And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore a - lone. Each

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204

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

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wave that we danced on at morn-ing ebbs from us, And leaves us, at eve, on the

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bleak shore a - lone !

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Ne'er tell me of glo - ries, se - rene - ly

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close of our day, the calm eve of our night;— Give me back, give me back, the wild

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fresh - ness of Morn - ins:. Her clouds and her tears are worth Ev'ning's best light. Give me

I SAW FROM THE BEACH.

lentando.

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back, give me back, the wild fresh-ness of Morn - ing, Her clouds and her tears are worth

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Ev'n - ins's best li°:ht.

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Oh ! who would not welcome that moment's returning,

When passion first waked a new life through his frame,
And his soul, like the wood that grows precious in burning,
Gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame !

206

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

FILL THE BUMPER FAIE.

Lively and spirited.

AIR — BOB AND JOAN.

Fill the bum - per fair ! Ev - 'ry drop we sprin-kle O'er the brow of Care

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Smooths a - way a wrin - kle. "Wit's e - lec - trie flame Ne'er so swift - ly pass - es,
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As when thro' the frame It shoots from brim - ming glass - es. Fill the bum - per fair !

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Ev - 'ry drop we sprin - kle O'er the brow of Care Smooths a - way a wrin - kle.

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FILL THE BUMPER FAIR.

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Sag - es can, they say, Grasp the light-ning's pinions, And bring down its ray

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From the starr'd do - min-ions : — So we, Sag - es, sit, And, 'mid bump-ers bright'ning

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From the Heav'n of "VVit Draw down all its light-ning ! Fill the bump - er fair !

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Ev - 'ry drop we sprin - kle O'er the brow of Care Smooths a - way a wrin - kle.

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MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

3rd verse.

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"Wouldst thou know what first Made our souls in - her - it This en - no - bling thirst For
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wine's ce - les - tial spi - rit ? It chanced up - on that day, When, as bards in - form us, Pro-

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me - theus stole a - way The liv - ing fires that warm us. Fill the bump - er fair !

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Ev - 'ry drop we sprin - kle O'er the brow of Care Smooths a - way a wrin - kle.

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FILL THE BUMPER FAIR.

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4th verse

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The care - less youth, when up To Glo - ry's fount as - pir - ing, Took nor urn nor cup, To

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hide the pil - fer'd fire in; — But oh his joy! when round The halls of Hea-ven spy -ing, A-

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mongst the stars he found A bowl of Bac - chus ly - ing. Fill the

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bump - er fair !
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Ev - 'ry drop we sprin - kle O'er the brow of Care Smooths a - way a wrin - kle.

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Some drops were in the bowl,
Remains of last night's pleasure,

With which the Sparks of Soul
Mix'd their burning treasure !

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Hpnce the goblet's shower
Hath such spells to win ns-

Hence its mighty power
O'er that Flame within ns.
Fill the bumper fair ! »fcc:

210

MOORE'S IKlSH MELODIES.

DEAR HARP OF MY COUNTRY.

Moderate time, and with much warmth of expression.

AIR— NEW LANGOLEE.

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Dear Harp of my Coun - try ! in darkness I found thee, The cold chain of si - lence* had

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hung o'er thee long, When proud-ly, my own Is - land Harp ! I un-bound thee, And

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gave all thy chords to light, free - dom, and song ! The warm lay of love and the

air

• In that rebellious but beautiful song — " When Erin first rose,"
there is, if I recollect right, the following line : —

" The dark chain of silence was thrown o'er the deep."

The Chain of Silence was a sort of practical figure of rhetoric among
the ancient Irish. Walker tells us of " a celebrated contention for

precedence between Finn and Gaul, near Finn's palace at Almhaim,
where the attending Bards, anxious, if possible, to produce a cessa-
tion of hostilities, shook the Chain of Silence, and flung themselves
among the ranks." See also the Ode to Gaul, the son of Morni, in
Miss Brook's Reliques of Irish Poetry.

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DEAR HARP OF MY COUNTRY.

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light note of glad-ness Have wak - en'd thy fond - est, thy live - li - est thrill; But

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lentando.

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express.

oft hast thou e - cho'd the deep sigh of sad - ness, That ev'n in thy mirth it will

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steal from thee still.

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Dear Harp of my Coun- try ! fare- well to thy num - bers, This sweet wreath of song is the

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last we shall twi

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sleep, with the sun-shine of

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Fame on thy slum - bers, Till

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212

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

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toucli'd by some hand less un - wor - thy than mine. If the pulse of the pa - tri - ot,

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sol - dier, or lov - er, Have throbb'd at our lay, 't is thy glo - ry a - lone ; I was

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waked was thy own !

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THE MEETING OF THE WATERS

213

TIIE MEETING OF THE WATERS/

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There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the

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bright waters meet.f Oh! the last rays of feel - ing and life must de - part Ere the

• " The Meeting of the Waters " forms a part of that beautiful
scenery which lies between Rathdrum and Arklow, in the county of

Wicklon ; and these lines were suggested by a visit to thia romantic

spot in the summer of the year 1S07.
f The rivers Avon and Avoca.

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214 MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

11 lentando. cres.

bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart ! Ere the bloom of that valley shall

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fade from my heart !"

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2nd verse.

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Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene Her purest of crystal and

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brightest of green ; 'T was not the soft magic of streamlet or hill ; Oh !

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THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.

lentando. even.

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no — it was something more ex - qui - site still ! — Oh ! no — it was something more

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'T was that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near,
Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear ;
And who felt how the best charms of Nature improve
When we see them reflected from looks that we love.

IV.

Sweet vale of Avoca ! how calm could I rest

In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best,

Where the storms which we feel in this cold world should cease,

And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace !

216

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

SONG OF iraSFAIL.

THEY CAME FROM A LAND BEYOND THE SEA.

In moderate time, and fiomngly.

AIR — PEGGY BAWJT.

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yond the sea, And now o'er the west-ern main, Set sail, in their good ships,

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gal - lant - ly, From the sun - ny land

of Spain.

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THEY CAME FROM A LAND BEYOND TDIE SEA.

217

where 's the Isle we 've seen in dreams, Our des - tin'd home

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Thus sung they, as by the morning's beams They

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boom'd o'er th'At-lan - tic wave.

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dolce.

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2nd verse.

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lo, where a - far o'er

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ocean shines A spar - kle of radiant green,

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As though in that deep lay

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• " Milesius remembered the remarkable prediction of the principal Druid, who foretold that the posterity of Gadelus should obtain th*
possession of a Western Island (which was Ireland), and there inhabit." — Keating.

278

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

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em'rald mines, Whose light thro' the wave was seen.

'T is In-nis-fail— * 'tis

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ere.? - c«» - <fo. "

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In - nis - fail ! " Rings o'er the e - cho - inj
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sea,

While,

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bend - ing to heav'n, the warriors hail That home of the brave and free.

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3rd verse.

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Then turn'd they un - to the

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East - ern wave,

Where

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their Day- God's eye

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* The Island of Destiny, our of the ancient names of Ireland.

THEY CAME FROM A LAND BEYOND THE SEA.

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look of such sun - iy o - men gave As light - ed up sea and sky.

Nor

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frown was seen

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sky or sea,

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tear on leaf

or

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220

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

WHEN COLD IN THE EARTH.

Slow and with melancholy expression.

AIR — LIMERICKS LAMENTATION.*

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When cold in

the earth lies the friend thou

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hast loved, Be his

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faults and his fol - lies

for - got by thee then ; Or, if from. their

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slum - ber the veil be

re-moved, Weep o'er them in si - lence and

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• Our right to this fine Air (the " Lochaber " of the Scotch) will, I fear, be disputed ; but, as it has been long connected with Irish
words, and is confidently claimed for us by Mr. Bunting and others, I thought I should not be authorized in leaving it out of this collection.

WHEN COLD IN THE EARTH.

221

close it

a - gain. And oh ! if 't is pain to re - mem - ber how

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2nd verse.

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.
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veal - ini^s that taught him true Love to

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pre - sence, and turn him with shame From the i - dols he dark - ly had

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knelt to be - fore. O'er the waves of a life, long be - night - ed and

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WHEN COLD IN TIIE EARTH.

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hap - pi - ness pure - ly and glow - ing - ly smiled On his ev'n - ing ho-

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And though sometimes the shade of past folly would rise,

And though falsehood again would allure him to stray,
He but turn'd to the glory that dwelt in those eyes,

And the folly, the falsehood, soon vanish 'd away.
As the Priests of the Sun, when their altar grew dim,

At the day-beam alone could its lustre repair,
So, if virtue a moment grew languid in him,

He but flew to that smile, and rekindled it there !

224

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

REMEMBER THEE !

220

2nd verse

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Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glo - rious, and free, First flower of the

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earth and first gem of the sea, I might hail thee with proud-er, with

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But oh ! could I love thee more deeply than now P

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No, thy chains as they torture thy blood as it runs,
But make thee more painfully dear to thy sons —
Whose hearts, like the young of the desert-bird's nest,
Drink love in each life-drop that flows from thy breast !

2£6

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

WREATH THE BOWL.

AIR— NORAN KITSA.

Gaily and brilliantly.

das

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"Wreath the bowl With flow'rs of soul The bright - est Wit can

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us ; We '11 take a flight Tow'rds Heav'n to - night, And

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leave dull earth be - hind

us ! Should Love a - mid The

WREATH THE BOWL.

227

228

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

2nd verse.

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re - ceipt 's

looks of bliss

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be blend

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bring Wit's beam To warm the stream, And there 's your nec

tar,

WREATH THE BOWL.

229

Say, why did Time

His glass sublime
Fill up with sands unsightly,

When wine, he knew,

Runs brisker through,
And sparkles far more brightly.

Oh, lend it us,

And, smiling thus,
The glass in two we 'd sever,

Make pleasure glide

In double tide,
And fill both ends for ever !

Then, wreath the bowl, &c.

230

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES

WHENE'ER I SEE THOSE SMILING EYES.

Slow and tenderly.

AIR — FATHER QUINN.
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e'er I see tho3e smil - ing eyes, All fill'd with hope, and joy, and light, As

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if no cloud could ev - er rise, To dim a heav'n so pure - ly bright ; I

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WHENE'ER I SEE THOSE SMILING EYES.

231

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sigh to think how soon that brow In grief may lose its ev'

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ray, And that light heart, so joy - ous now, Al - most for - get it

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once was g£

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MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

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youth, that like pure snow ap - pears, Ere sul - lied by the dark - 'ning

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OH! WHERE'S THE SLAVE.

233

OH! WHEKE'S THE SLAVE.

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Oh ! where's the slave, so low - ly, Con - demn'd to chains un - ho - ly, Who,

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could he burst His bonds at first, Would pine be - neath them sldw - ly ? What

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soul, whose wrongs de - grade it, Would wait till time de - cay'd it, When thus its wing At

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231

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES

; — m 1 — ^ 1-

once may spring To the throne of Him who made it ?

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that, whose braid Is pluck'd to shade The brows with vie - fry glow - ing ! We

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an

* The few bars which I have here taken the liberty of connecting
with this spirited Air, form one of those melancholy strains of our
Music, which are called Damps. I found it in a collection entitled
" The Hibernian Muse," and we are told in the Essay prefixed to

that Work, that " it is said to have been sung by the Irish Women
on the field of battle, after a terrible slaughter made by Cromwell's
troops in Ireland."

OH ! WHERE 'S THE SLAVE.

235

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3

tread, the land that bore us, Her green flag glit-ters o'er us, The friends we've tried Are

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by our side, And the foe we hate be - fore us !

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Slow and melancholy.

Fare-well, E - rin ! fare - well, all TVho

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236

MOOKE'S IRISH MELODIES.

IF THOU'LT BE MINE.

Flowing and simple.

AIR — THE WINNOWING SHEET.

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If thou'lt be mine, the trea - sures of air, Of earth, and

4J-

sea

shall

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122

it

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lie at thy feet ; What - ev - er in Fan - cy's eye looks fair, Or in

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espres.

Hope's sweet mu - sic sounds most sweet, Shall be ours, if thou wilt be mine, love !

IF THOU 'LT BE MINE.

237

ft

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2nd verse.

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Bright flow'rs shall spring wher - ev - er we rove, A voice di - vine shall

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talk in each stream, The stars shall look like worlds of love, And this

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espres.

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earth be all one beau - ti - ful dream In our eyes, if thou wilt be mine, love !

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out*

• J. 1. J.1. 4. 1. i. • ^_

# #

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238

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

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3 ED VEESE.

And thoughts, whose source is hid - den and high, Like streams that flow from

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hea - ven - ward hills, Shall keep our hearts, like meads that lie To be

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espres.

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bathed by those e

■ ter - nal rills, Ev - er green, if thou wilt be

Mi ■ .t^T=^

-a*-. w—r-

mine, love !

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^ i — r H~J — ^ a.

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f t r rTTT

a

J.i. i. J. i. JL J

23

All this and more the Spirit of Love

Can breathe o'er them, who feel his spells ;

That heaven, which forms his home, above,
He can make, on earth, wherever he dwells,
As thou 'It own, if thou wilt be mine, love '

FORGET NOT THE FIELD.

239

FORGET NOT THE FIELD.

Despondingly.

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AIR— THE LAMENTATION OF ACGHRIM.

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For - get not the field where they perish'd, The tru - est, the

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last of the brave — All gone ! and the bright hope we cher - ish'd Gone

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5

with them, and quench'd in their grave.
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240

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2nd verse.

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

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Oh ! could we from death but re - cov - er Those hearts, as they

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bound - ed be - fore, In the face of high heav'n to fight o - ver That

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com - bat for Free - dom once more ; —

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3rd verse.

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Could the chain for an in - stant be riv - en Which Ty - ran - ny

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FORGET NOT THE FIELD.

241

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Oh ! 't is ' not in Man nor in Heav'n, To let

flung round us then,

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Ty - ran - ny bind it a - gain !

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IV.

But 't is past — and though blazon'd in story
The name of our Victor may be,

Accurst is the march of that glory
Which treads o'er the hearts of the free.

v.

Far dearer the grave or the prison,
Illumed by one patriot name,

Than the trophies of all who have risen
On Liberty's ruins to fame !

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

OH FOK THE SWORDS OF FORMER TIME !

i

Oh for the swords of for - mer time ! Oh for the men who bore them, When,

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arm'd for Right, they stood sub - lime, And ty - rants crouch'd be - fore them ! When

it/

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pure

yet, ere courts be - gan With hon - ours to en - slave him, The

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5

best

hon - ours worn by Man Were those which Vir - tue gave

f

him.

OH FOR THE SWORDS OF FORMER TIME !

24a

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5 5

Oh for the swords of for - mer time ! Oh for the men who bore them, When,

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arm'd for Right, they stood sub - lime, And ty - rants crouch'd be

1

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fore them !

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2nd verse.

i

Oh for the Kings who flourish'd then ! Oh for the pomp that crown'd them, When,

s

: : :

2

3

g

hearts and hands of free - born men Were all the ram - parts round them ! When

v

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244

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

safe built on bo - soms true, Tbe throne was but the cen

tre, Round

fct

-p * p

which Love a cir - cle drew, That Trea - son durst not

en

ter.

fefc

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Oh for the Kings who flour - ish'd then ! Oh for the pomp that crown 'd them, When

i

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: — i — i — e — r —

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hearts and hands of free - born men Were all the ram - parts round them !

THEY MAY RAIL AT THIS LIFE.

245

THEY MAY RAIL AT THIS LIFE.

With gaiety and feeling.

AIR — XOCH BONIN SHIN DOE.

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„ r r - ^ r ^

They may rail at this life — from, the hour I be - gan it, I 've found it a life full of

kind - ness and bliss ; And un - til they can show me some hap - pi - er pla - net, More

-# — 0 — * —

so - cial and bright, I '11 con-tent me with this. As long as the world has such

^1

e - lo-quent eyes, As be - fore me this mo- ment en - rap - tur'd I see, They may

i o

5

5

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246

MOORE'S IRISn MELODIES.

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say what they will of their orbs in the skies, But this earth is the pla - net for

3

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you, love, and me.

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^ter - cu - ry's stt

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om the

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foun - tain on high, Tho' the I
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lymphs may have live - li - er

po- ets* to si

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none, e - ven there, more en - amour'd than I. And, as long as this harp can be

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* Tous les habitoua dc Mercure sont vi£j. — PluralUi del Mondti

THEY MAY BAIL AT THIS LIFE.

247

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waken'd to love, And that eye its di - vine in - spir - a - tion snail be, They may

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talk as they will of their E - dens a - bove, But this earth is the pla - net for

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you, love, and me.

M - —

-E-F=P5 — Us?

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III.

In that star of the west, by whose shadowy splendour,

At twilight so often we 've roam'd through the dew,
There are maidens, perhaps, who have bosoms as tender,

And look, in their twilights,* as lovely as you.
But, though they were even more bright than the queen

Of that isle they inhabit in heaven's blue sea,
As I never these fair young celestials have seen,

"Why, — this earth is the planet for you, love, and me.

IV.

As for those chilly orbs on the verge of creation,

"Where sunshine and smiles must he equally rare,
Did they want a supply of cold hearts for that station,

Heaven knows, we have plenty on earth we could spare.
Oh think what a world we should have of it here,

If the haters of peace, of affection, and glee,
Were to fly up to Saturn's comfortless sphere,

And leave earth to such spirits as you, love, and me.

• La Tcrre pourra etre pour Ve'nus l'etoile du berger et la mere des amours, comme V^nus Test pour nous.— Ih

248

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

NE'ER ASK THE HOUR

Cheerfully.

AIR — MT HUSBAND'S A JOURNEY TO PORTUGAL GONE.
Pft'-^ f£P-~

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Ne'er ask the hour — what is it to us How Time deals out his

ff

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treasures ?

The gold - en moments, lent us thus, Are not his coin, but

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NE'ER ASK THE HOUR.

249

Dim - in,

_g_ i ~r

en - do.

m

Pleasure's.

If count - ing them o - ver could add to their bliss - es, I 'd

m.

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slentando.

3 P-

num. - ber each glo - rious se - cond ; But mo - ments of joy are, like

mm

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a tempo.

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Les - bia's kiss - es, Too quick and sweet to be reck - on'd.

Then

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fill the cup — what is it to us How Time his cir - cle measures?

The

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fai - ry hours we call up thus, O - bey no wand but Pleasure's !

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250 MOORE'S TKISH MELODIES.

2nd verse.

1

Young Joy ne'er thought of count - ing hours, Till Care, one sum-mer's

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morning,

Set up, a

A di-al, by way of

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do.

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warning.

But Joy loved bet - ter to gaze on the sun,

1

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as

mf

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slentando.
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long as its light was glow-ing, Than to watch with old Care how the

NE'ER ASK THE HOUR.

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201

a tempo.

-V-

sha - dow stole on, And how fast that light was go - ing.

So

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1

fill the cup — what is it to us How Time his cir - cle measures? The

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fai - ry hours we

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call up thus, 0 -

bey no wand but

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Pleasure's !

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252

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

SAIL ON, SAIL ON.

With mournful defiance.

fefc

is

AIR — THE HUMMING OF THE BAN.

9 • • =g

-i V I—

m

^ # * — 0-

w y cm. / p soave.

3

espress.

Sail on, sail on, thou fear - less bark — Where ev - er

blows the

I

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5^

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—

pp

EE

wel -

come wind,

It can - not

lead

to scenes

more dark, More

sad than those

we leave be - hind. Each

smil

ing bil - low

ft

9

3 4

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SAIL ON, SAIL ON.

263

4>h" j -

hopes an
~t&

* — T

id the

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i

e!"

m

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s

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dolce.
* 1

-i S 1 s — i — * — = — — . =

— *fc=z* f V

k 1 —

2nd verse.

—

PC

I , ; gsa : ■

— * —

— 0

— • —

* —

m

— p-

Sail

on,

sail

on,

■ — 0

through end -

—

less

> '

space, Through

1 4

ca

1

m,

« — - —

through tem -

— # — l

pest

-Is-

i

— 0 —

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stop

no

more,

The storm - i - est sea 's

rest - in£

place To

I

ten.

w

ft

254

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

him who leaves such hearts on. shore. Or,

if

some de - sert

f

f

dolce. legati.

LiJ;:

-3*

r

land

we meet, Where nev - er yet false-heart - ed men

Pro-

1 J> P=3=3 ' =g -

=5

1

fc

^1 N

^1

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rest thee,

3

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- faned a world, that else were sweet, Then rest thee, bark, but

ii

ft

mf

f

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I

not till then.

i

as

TtTT *

Si

=ife — i i i

YES, SAD ONE OF ZION ! 255

THE PARALLEL.

YES, SAD ONE OF ZION! IF CLOSELY RESEMBLING.

Mournfully.

AIR— I WOULD RATHER THAN IRELAND.

Mm

* — r

= i r I*-

*

1 — 1 J -

P espress. e sostenuto.

3E£

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-f— ~£ i C i i — ; — 1

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dim. '* f /

Yes, sad one of Si - 011 ! * if close - ly re - sem - bling, In

pi?, k~ a

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1 — Is N v~ r

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h*|-J-=t-
: 1 —

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— 1 -» » 1

1 1 1

shame and in

sor

row, thy with - er'd

up

heart-

If

i— — I 1

3^

N 1 ^ -zfc:

• These verses were written after the perusa. "t a trpafise bv Mr. Hamilton, professing to prove that the Irish were originallv Jew«.

256

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

3

if'*

drink - ing deep, deep, of the same " cup of tremb - ling " Could make us thy

W5

EE 5

chil - dren, our pa - rent thou art.

i

HE

espress.

ten.

t t

4r_

2nd verse.

ft

9

Like thee doth our na - tion lie con - quer'd and brok - en, And

r 111

SE i 5 1 Mb"

BE5

-ft-,, 1— |— Ht

« i «i

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e3

tat

fall'n from her head is the once roy

al

crown ;

In her

9E

^ — i

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gf — P-

streets, in her halls, De - so - la - tion hath spok - en, And, " while it is

YES, SAD ONE OF SION !

257

i

Pi

day, yet her sun hath gone down.

ft

»=*=s

cres. bp
_«

TIP

ITT.

Like thine doth her exile, mid dreams of returning,
Die far from the home it were life to behold ;

Like thine do her sons, in the day of their mourning,
Remember the bright things that bless'd them of old !

IV.

Ah, well may we call her, like thee, "the Forsaken," f
Her boldest are vanquish'd, her proudest are slaves ;

And the harps of her minstrels, when gayest they waken,
Have breathings as sad as the wind over graves !

v.

Yet hadst thou thy vengeance — yet came there the morrow,
That shines out, at last, on the longest dark night,

When the sceptre, that smote thee with slavery and sorrow,
"Was shiver'd at once, like a reed, in thy sight.

VI.

When that cup, which for others the proud Golden City *
Had brimm'd full of bitterness, drench'd her own lips,

And the world she had trampled on heard, without pity,
The howl in her halls and the cry from her ships.

VII.

When the curse Heaven keeps for the haughty came over,
Her merchants rapacious, her rulers unjust,

And — a ruin, at last, for the earth-worm to cover, — §
The Lady of Kingdoms || lay low in the dust.

* " Wer sun is gone down while it was yet day."— Jerem. xv. 9. § " Thy pomp is brought down to the graro .... and tne wmi

t' "Thou shalt no more be termed Forsaken." — Isaiah lxii. 4. cover thee." — Id. xiv. 11.

I " How hath the oppressor ceased ! the golden city ceased ! "— || " Thou shalt no more be called. The Lady of Kingdoms." —

Id. xiv. 4. id. 5lvii. 5.

258

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

OH, YE DEAD!

Mournfully.

AIR — PLOUGH TUNE.

EEE±

espress.

Oh, ye

aH3

ere*. « f cres. gotten.

* — »^

Dead ! oh, ye Dead ! whom we know by the light you give From your cold gleaming

lis

mm a V I

as

— P-#

eyes, though you move like men who live — "Why leave you thus your

'-i M — 1 f f r *

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graves, In

ift= ^

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far - <

)ff fields and

waves, Where the

worm and the

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cres.

r4-*-^ i i

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, £ 1

7 t_TT

— v — ■

■

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OH, YE DEAD

259

sea

bird on - ly know your bod,

To haunc this spot, where

wm

r% — I*-

an

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m

4^ • a — ■ a -

aU

Those eyes that wept your fall,

And the hearts that be - wail'd you,

m

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2nd verse.

5 g-

like your own, lie dead ?

It is

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cres.

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east

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true, it is true, we are shadows cold and wan ; It is true, it is

1m

gfeg

true,

all the friends we loved are

But oh, thus ev'n in

I

4 4

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r r r

260

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

ll

death,

So sweet is still the breath

Of the fields

fete

and the

m

Ml

J 1/ L_

ii

flow'rs in our youth we wan - der'd o'er,

That, ere

condemn'd,

we

at

4- A- J.

I i I
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r

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teas

To freeze 'mid Hecla's* snow,

"We would taste

it a - while, and

m

i

mi

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— •= — » —

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^ *

dream we live once more.

m

morendc.

r r r -r f £ -r " r^t

w

* Paul Zeland mentions that there is a mountain in some part of Ireland, where the ghosts of persons who have died in foreign lands
walk about and converse with those they meet, like living people. If asked, why they do not return to their homes, they say they are
obliged to go to Mount Hecla, and disappear immediately.

SEE IS FAR FROM THE LAND.

2G1

SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND.

With melancholy expression.

AIR — OPEN THE DOOR.

TT

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E

5:

She

is

far from the land, where her young he - ro sleeps,

f

And

n

3

IS;

5

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lov - ers are round her sigh - ing ; But cold - ly she turns from their

4

1

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Be

f F-

gaze, and weeps, For her heart in

his grave is

in:

i

£3

.15? [

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2 x

262

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

2nd verse.

-frb 1

— 4

She

sings the wild song of her dear

na-tive plains, Ev' - ry

as

s z —

i — p.

— ^-

» • ff *

' —

g g ■ 1/

note which he loved a

wak - ing. — Ah ! lit - tie they think, who de-

fefc

IS

I

r

as

5E

light in her strains, How the heart of the Minstrel is break

in cr I

4 «-

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v -j- v -p- . f"

p — r j |Hf

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3rd verse.

SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND.

263

He had lived for his love, for his coun - try he died, They

were

— 1

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3

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all that to life had en - twined him, — Nor soon shall the tears of his

m

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s

♦

/ — *-

coun - try he dried, Nor
Orb f

long will his love stay be

hind

him !

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Oh ! make her a grave, where the sun-beams rest,
"When they promise a glorious morrow ;

They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West,
From her own loved Island of sorrow !

264

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

ECHO.

HOW SWEET THE ANSWER ECHO MAKES!

In moderate time.

AIR — THE WHEN.

i — Is

i J

, - /-s

p

P ]
»■ r

✓ — J — k — *

a f

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dim.

0

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— » — 0 — • — » —

1 V \ V 1

• ' r ;

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r

fp slentando

By another voice

slentando.

l_l__I___lt

To mu - sic at night

p — ^- -r

^ — F — F-

How sweet the an - swer E - cko makes To mu - sic at night —

JL I 1 !

When,

1^1

|f C -i-g-|

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r-^-? — * ■ —
i_t, _____

• F E'

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roused by lute
_N

or

horn, she wakes, she start - ing wakes, And

HOW SWEET THE ANSWER ECHO MAKES.

it

Goes an - swcr-ing light.

far a -way, o'er lawns and lakes, Goes an-swering light. —

H ■ L

~^stacc. molto

BE

7 1 J — H

'1/ 1

V-^l— & ^3=.*-

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f

•— CE* i -

2XD VERSE.

fl N

i

And far more sweet —

li

Yet Love hath e - choes tru - er far, And far

more sweet,

w

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W
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Than

1 1/ ~

dolce.

slentando.

\

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e

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colla voce.

V *-

-i - -

266

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

3rd verse

1

And on - ]y then—

dolce.

m

'T is when the sigh, in youth sin - cere, And on - ly then
fy=-| N 1 M: s> — n .-i zz===

The

1

^ l-^J=. Kir* 1 — 3

3=

p^

> 1 !■

slentando.

sigh, that 's breathed for one to hear, for one to hear, Is

DRINK OF THIS CUP.

267

DRINK OF THIS CUP.

Gaily.

AIR — PADDY O'RAFFERTT.

m

f

—

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t-1 ^~

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— -r=4

f ten.

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ESS

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fe^— f F=^

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Drink of this cup — you'll

r_J-- JL^:

find there's a spell in Its

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g i c g ^=E=

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s — m

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„ drop 'gainst the

tr ■ w * ^ # • 0 ' i i-s — » L

e - ve - ry drop 'gainst the ills of mor - tal - i - ty — Talk of the cor - dial that

268

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

4

spark-led for He - len, Her cup was a fic - tion, but this is re

al

- ty.

IE

I

5

Would you for - get the dark world we are in, On - ly taste of the bub - ble that

TT £

3— r

i

5

v-

gleams on the top of it ; But would you rise a - bove earth, till a - kin To im-

3:

3E

5

(

p

mor

tals themselves, you must drain ev' - ry drop of it. Send round the cup —

for

:

I

€23'.

i

— ^

□fcs

i

drop gainst the

oh ! there 's a spell in Its ev - e - ry drop 'gainst the ills of mor - tal - i - ty —

1

1

1

i —

en

I

DRINK OF THIS CUP.

209

ii.

Never was philter form'd with, such power

To charm and bewilder as this we are quaffing ;
Its magic began when, in Autumn's rich hour,

As a harvest of gold in the fields it stood laughing1.
There having, by nature's enchantment, been fill'd

"With the balm and the bloom of her kindliest weather,
This wonderful juice from its core was distill'd,

To enliven such hearts as are here brought together !
Then drink of the cup — you '11 find there 's a spell in

Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality :
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen,

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

in.

And though, perhaps — but breathe it to no one —

Like caldrons the witch brews at midnight so awful,
In secret this philter was first taught to flow on,

Yet — 't is n't less potent for being unlawful.
What, though it may taste of the smoke of that flame,

Which in silence extracted its virtue forbidden —
Fill up — there 's a fire in some hearts I could name,

Which may work too its charm, though now lawless and hidden.
So drink of the cup — for oh there 's a spell in

Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality :
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for He lex,

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

270 MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

THE YOUNG MAY MOON.

{

Lively.

AIR — THE DANDY o!

0—0-

0—0

0 — 0-

f

0—0 — •

P

f—0 r* f 0 vf

OH

if.

r i r

The young May moon is beam - ing, love, The glowworm's lamp is gleaming, love, How

m

-6

tit

BH —

»H ST"

»

1

i

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1 ^

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1 = d :

ad lib.

a lempo.

-f —

f>5

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s \—-

4=

' l =6

1 — ^y^LU —

— * 4 0-

sweet to rove Thro' Mor - na's grove,* While the drow - sy world is dreaming, love !

S=t — r— 1 k '

is

i — ■ —

# — »-

Then a - wake ! the heav'ns look bright, my dear ! 'T is never too late for de-light, my dear ! And the

•

; - ■

=1 J

J 1 J =1

o

1 • m • —

4

—

' ' h

lentando.

ad lib.

a tempo.

best of all ways To lengthen our days, Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!

3^

P

T

^5

3

* " Steal silently to Morna's grove."
See a translation from the Irish, in Mr. Bunting's collection, by John Brown, one of my earliest college companions and friends,
whose death was as singularly melancholy and unfortunate, as his life had been amiable, honourable, and exemplary.

THE YOUNG MAY MOON

271

2nd verse.

Si

IS

5

Now all the world is sleep - ing, love, But the Sage, his star-watch keep - ing, love, And

I

i

_ : *

c

1 =1 a

w

t

m

ad lib.

i

3

a tempo.

* aH

I, whose star, More glo-rious far,

Is the eye from that case - ment peep - ing, love !

I N !-

V

6=*

5

Then a - wake, till rise of sun, my dear ! The Sage - 's glass we'll shun, my dear, Or, in

s

i

3

-J — =i — J — i

1

6

-=1 J *|-

a tempo.

watching the flight Of bo - dies of light, He might hap-pen to take thee for one, my dear !

• _ff • =F

-J &— f> ^ -i

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f ir-r — ? —

r.

=■=#=1

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272

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

OH, BANQUET NOT IN THOSE SHINING BOWERS.

1 Jr^ J73

-4> ■ JL Mi=^

p

J— y-= r —

LL ~^

—

f p f p

^ — — ^ — — U — =i — n

s

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w

dolce\

-SM-

d — *

Oh, ban - quet not in those shin - ing bow - ers Where Youth re - sorts — but

_j. — r

and thee. And there we shall have
ft

for sor-row, for

-=1-

a

OH, BANQUET NOT IN THOSE SHINING BOWERS

273

f f

ptfm

feast

of tears, And ma - ny a cup

in

si - lence pour — 0

ur

i

M £

guests the shades of for

mer

years, Our toasts to lips that

BUS

to

Hi —

bloom no more.

i i t

3s

2nd verse.

F f-

53

There, while the myr - tie's with-er - ing boughs Their life - less leaves a -

3£

# — *

us shed, "We'll brim the bowl to brok

w~

To

round

en vows,

274

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

5

I f— P

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friends Ion'" lost, the changed, the dead! Or, as

some blight-ed

YOU REMEMBER ELLEN, OUR HAMLET'S PRIDE

275

YOU REMEMBER ELLEN/

Simply and in moderate time,

AIR— WKKK 1 A CLKKK.

3^

9 *

i

• * m V — ^

You re-member Ellen, our ham - let's pride, How meekly she bless'd her hum - ble lot, "When the

m

— #

stranger, William, had made her his bride, And Love was the light of their low - ly cot.

Bit

/

„ *L*~* — = 1 - 3 ^ 1 -—i-^ai v ^ /

To - gether they toil'd thro' winds and rains, Till "William at length, in sad- ness, said, "We must

4

a*

r

I

j» — it

i

seek our for - tune on o - ther plains;" — Then,sighing, she left her low - lv shed.

* Tiiis ballad was suggested by a well-known and interesting story, told of a certain Noble Family in England.

276

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

Si

2nd verse.

S2

• —

? — * — *

They roam'd a long and a wea - ry way, Nor much was the maid - en's heart at ease, When

3=*

a*

f> N

-• — 0

• — r

now, at close of one storm - y day, They see a proud cas - tie a - mong the trees.

• h

n- =

— f-4

— A * —
•

1 f

1

— g — g

To-night," said the youth," we'll shel -ter there; The wind blows cold, the hour is late: "So, he

:I:

3^E

go

— r

at

r

aw spirito.

# — #

'

blew the horn with a chieftain's air, And the Por - ter bow'd as they pass'd the gate.

i Nn

^=5

SB

4

YOU REMEMBER ELLEN, OUR HAMLET'S PRIDE.

277

3rd verse.

-pi -- 1

0**0

, f . .LJU^

-P u u — - — m m

; j m

Now, welcome, Lady!" exelaim'd the youth, "This cas-tle is thine, and these dark woods all." She be-

li

5^5

' « V -J.'* — |

i

g — ? p r-

— * — *-

lieved him wild, but his words were truth, For El - len is La - dy of Ros - na Hall !
ill v

0 J ^ I 1 jH « J ' I I 1 i'^H^=

" 1 • *JT* 4 1 * * « « ^- * ^4 Z 0 1 # * •

— \ — fs — £ —

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And
-ft 1

f J * *-

dear- ly the L
^ ^ •

— *

ord of

— — — # — /—i

Ros - na loves What ^

Villiam, the strang-er,
-d 1 J « 1-

woo'd and wed ; And the

...

L-J 0 0

r i r

■

^-

i-r ir i

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^ —

^

r •■ f :

Hght of bliss, in those lord - ly groves, Is pure as it shone in the low - ly shed.

278

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

With melancholy expression.

THE DAWNING OF MORN.

AIR — STACCA AN MHAEAGA (THE MARKET-STAKE).

p.

w *-

• X p
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^^^^
J / J >

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morendo.

m

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The dawn -ing of morn, the day - light's sink - ing, The night's long hours, still

il

art

*=l •

» —

*P — * — >

1

— '

>

^ —

find me think- ing Of thee, thee, on - ly thee. When friends are met, and

THE DAWNING OF MORN.

279

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reach'd by all that sun - shine round, My soul, like some dark

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280

MOORE'S HUSH MELODIES.

head - long bark To the o - cean hur - ries— rest

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I have not a joy but of thy bringing,

And pain itself seems sweet, when springing

From thee, thee, only thee.
Like spells, that nought on earth can break,

Till lips, that know the charm, have spoken,
This heart, howe'er the world may wake
Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken
By thee, thee, only thee.

OH, THE SIGHT ENTRANCING

281

OH, THE SIGHT ENTRANCING.

Triumphantly.

AIR — ri.A.\XTY SUDLF.Y.

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MOOEE'S IRISH MELODIES.

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hearts are all liigh beat - ing,
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Oh the sight en- tranc - ing, When the morn - ing's beam is

Oh that sight en- tranc - ing, "When the morn - ing's beam is

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SWEET INNISFALLEN.

Rather slow and feelingly.

AIR — THE CAPTIVATING YOUTH.

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SWEET INNISFALLEN.

285

oh to feel how

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MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

3rd verse.

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Thou wert too love-ly then for one, Who had to turn to

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leave thee bright and si - lent there ;

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Far better in thy weeping hours
To part from thee, as I do now,

"When mist is o'er thy blooming bowers,
Like sorrow's veil on beauty's brow.

TI.

For, though unrivall'd still thy grace,
Thou dost not look, as then, too blest,

But, in thy shadows, seem'st a place
Where weary man might hope to rest-

VII.

Might hope to rest, and find in thee
A gloom like Eden's, on the day

He left its shade, when every tree,

Like thine, hung weeping o'er his waj '

VIII.

"Weeping or smiling, lovely isle !

And still the lovelier for thy tears —
For though but rare thy sunny smile,

'Tis Heaven's own glance, when it appears.

IX.

Like feeling hearts, whose joys are few,
But, when indeed they come, divine -

The steadiest bght the sun e'er threw
Is lifeless to one gleam of thine !

288

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

'TWAS ONE OF THOSE DREAMS.

With feeling, but not too slow.

AIR — THE SONG OF THE WOODS.

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MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

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He listen'd — while, high o'er the eagle's rude nest
The lingering sounds on their way loved to rest ;
And the echoes sung back from their full mountain quire,
As if loth to let song so enchanting expire.

IV.

It seem'd as if every sweet note, that died here,
"Was again brought to life in some airier sphere,
Some heaven in those hills, where the soul of the strain
That had ceased upon earth was awaking again !

Oh forgive, if, while listening to music, whose breath
Seem'd to circle his name with a charm against death,
He should feel a proud Spirit within him proclaim,
" Even so shalt thou live in the echoes of Fame :

VI.

" Even so, though thy memory should now die away,
'T will be caught up again in some happier day,
And the hearts and the voices of Erin prolong,
Through the answering Future, thy name and thy Bong ! "

I 'VE A SECRET TO TELL TEEE.

201

I'VE A SECRET TO TELL THE K

In moderate time, and with smoothness.

AIR — OH SOUTHERN BREEZE.

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I 've a se - cret to tell thee, but, hush ! not here, Oh !

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in thine ear, Some shore where the Spi - rit of Si - lence sleeps ; Where

3E

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292

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

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sum - mer s

I

wave un - mur - m'ring dies, Nor
N T

fay can hear the

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stars can be heard in o - cean dip, Thy - self shall, un - der some

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1 'VE A SECRET TO TELL THEE

203

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fin -

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thy lip : lake

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him, the boy,* who born a - mong The flow - ers that

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Ths God of Silence, thus pictured by the Egyptians

294 MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

FAIREST! PUT ON AWHILE.

-f-

In moder

ate time.

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These

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pin - ions of light I bring thee, And o'er thine own green isle

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let me wing thee. Nev - er did A

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FAIREST ! PUT ON AWHILE.

295

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I shall waft thee o - ver !

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Fields, where the Spring de - lays, And

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fear - less - ly meets the ar - dour

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but

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her. Rocks, through myr - tie bough?, In

296

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

Bit

p j .

Love hath ju

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i . *

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Is - lets, so fresh - ly fair, That

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nev - er hath bird come nigh them,

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-Types, sweet maid, of thee, Whose

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• In describing the Skeligs (islands of the Barony of Forth), Dr. Keating sa3's, " there is a certain attractive virtue in the soil which
draws down all the birds that attempt to fly over it, and obliges them to light upon the rock."

Lakes, where the pearl lies hid,*

And caves, where the diamond 's sleeping,
Bright as the gems that lid

Of thine lets fall in weeping.
Glens,f where Ocean comes,

To 'scape the wild wind's rancour,
And Harbours, worthiest homes

Where Freedom's sails could anchor.

Then if, while scenes so grand,

So beautiful, shine before thee,
Pride for thy own dear land

Should haply be stealing o'er thee,
Oh, let grief come first,

O'er pride itself victorious —
To think how Man hath curst

What Heav'n had made so glorious !

• " Nennius, a British writer of the 9th century, mentions the
abundance of pearls in Ireland. Their princes, he says, hung them
behind their ears ; and this we find confirmed by a present made

A. C. 1094, by Gilbert, Bishop of Limerick, to Anselm, Arci.bisb.op
of Canterbury, of a considerable quantity of Irish pearls." — O'Hal-
loran. t Glengariff.

298

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES

AND DOTH NOT A MEETING LIKE THIS.

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And doth, not a meet-ing like this make a - mends For all the long years I've been

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wand-'ring a - way — To see thus a - round me my youth's ear - ly friends, As

AND DOTH NOT A MEETING LIKE THIS.

299

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smil - ing and kind as in that hap - py day ! Though hap - ly o'er some of your

f 0 j_=^

brows, as o'er mine, The snow - fall of Time may be steal - ing — what

fcfc

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then ? Like Alps in the

sun

set, thus light - ed

by wine, TVe '11

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wear the gay tinge of Youth's ros - es a - gain.

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300

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES

2nd verse.

i

What soft - en'd re - membran - ces come o'er the heart, In gaz - ing on those we've been

life

lost to so long ! The sor - rows, the joys, of which once they were part, Still

-9rb

3

en

3

round them, like vi - sions of yes - ter - day, throng. As let - ters some hand hath in-

El

VI

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bly traced, When held to the flame will steal out on the

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sight, So ma - ny

feel - ing, that long seem'd ef - faced,

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AND DOTH NOT A MEETING LIKE THIS.

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warmth, of a meet - ing like this brings to light.

in.

And thus, as in memory's bark, we shall glide

To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew,
Though oft we may see, looking down on the tide,

The wreck of full many a hope shining through —
Yet still, as in fancy we point to the flowers,

That once made a garden of all the gay shore,
Deceived for a moment, we '11 think them still ours,

And breathe the fresh air of Life's morning once more.*

IV.

So brief our existence, a glimpse, at the most,

Is all we can have of the few we hold dear ;
And oft even joy is unheeded and lost,

For want of some heart, that could echo it, near.
Ah, well may we hope, when this short life is gone,

To meet in some world of more permanent bliss,
For, a smile or a grasp of the hand, hast'ning on,

Is all we enjoy of each other in this.f

v.

But, come, — the more rare such delights to the heart,

The more we should welcome and bless them the more —
They 're ours, when we meet, — they are lost, when we part,

Like birds that bring summer, and fly when 't is o'er.
Thus circling the cup, hand in hand, ere we drink,

Let Sympathy pledge us, through pleasure, through pain,
That fast as a feeling but touches one link,

Her magic shall send it direct through the chain.

• Jours charmans, quand je songe a vos heureux instans,

Je pense remonter le fleuve de mes ans ;

Et mon cceur enchante sur sa rive fleurie,

Respire encore Fair pur du matin de la vie.
t The same thought has been happily expressed by my friend
Mr. Washington Irving, in his Bracebridge Hall, vol. i. p. 213. The

pleasure which I feel in calling this gentleman my friend, is en-
hanced by the reflection that he is too good an American to have
admitted me so readily to such a distinction, if he had not known
that my feelings towards the great and free country that gave him
birth have long been such as every real lover of the liberty and hap-
piness of the human race must entertain. 0

302

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

THE MOUNTAIN SPRUE.

IN YONDER VALLEY THERE DWELT, ALONE.

In moderate time and playfully.

AIR— THE MOUNTAIN SPRITE.

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youth, whose life all had calm - ly flown, Till spells came o'er him, and,

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IN YONDER VALLEY THERE DWELT, ALONE.

303

m

1

day and night, He was haunted and watch'd by a Moun-tain Sprite,
C2. . - i ) i t

He was

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haunted and watch'd by a Moun-tain Sprite.

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2nd verse.

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As he, by

moon

light, went wan - d'ring o'er

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foot - print spar - kled. be -

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304

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES

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fore his sight — 'T was the fai - ry foot of the Moun-tain Sprite, 'T was the

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As,

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look - ing down on the stream, he lay,

Be - hind him stole two

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IN YONDER VALLEY THERE DWELT, ALONE.

305

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eyes of light, And he saw in the clear wave the Moun - tain Sprite, And he

t i t t

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saw in the clear wave the Moun - tain Sprite.

-0- -5 ~0-

IV.

He turn'd — hut, lo, like a startled bird,

The spirit fled — and he only heard

Sweet Music, such as marks the flight

Of a journeying star, from the Mountain Sprite.

One night, pursued by that dazzling look,
The youth, bewilder 'd, his pencil took,
And, guided only by Memory's light,
Drew the fairy form of the Mountain Sprite

VI.

" Oh thou, who lovest the shadow," cried
A gentle voice, whispering by his side,

" Now turn and see," — here the youth's delight.
Seal'd the rosy lips of the Mountain Sprite.

VIT.

" Of all the Spirits of land and sea,"
Exclaim'd he then, " there is none like thee,
And oft, oh oft, may thy shape alight
In this lonely arbour, sweet Mountain Sprite ! "

306

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

DESMOND'S SONG.*
BY THE FEAL'S WAVE BENIGHTED.

Tenderly.

AIR — UNKNOWN.!

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By the Feal's wave be - night - ed, Not a star in the skies, To thy door by Love

in

55

si

bght - ed, I first saw those eyes.

Some voice whis - per'd o'er me, As thy

-ST*

1

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— «

1

* " Thomas, the heir of the Desmond family, had accidentally
been so engaged in the chase, that he was benighted near Tralee, and
obliged to take shelter at the Abbey of Feal, in the house of one of
his dependents, called Mac Cormac. Catherine, a beautiful daugh-
ter of his host, instantly inspired the Earl with a violent passion,
which he could not subdue. He married her, and by this inferior

alliance alienated his followers, whose brutal pride regarded this in-
dulgence of his love as an unpardonable degradation of his family."
— Leland, vol. ii.

t The Air has been already so successfully supplied with words
by Mr. Bayly, that I should have left it untouched, if we could have
spared so interesting a melody out of our collection.

BY THE FEAL'S WAVE BENIGHTED.

307

P-r-w

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u v_ _^ "V- 1 ' ' Cs^* " &

threshold I crost, There was ru-in be - fore me, If I loved, I was lost.

m

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2nd verse.

Love came, and brought sor - row Too soon in his train ; Yet so sweet, that to

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mor- row 'T would be wel - come a - gain.

"Were mi-se-ry's full measure Pour'd

at

1^ 1 &>

out to me now, I would drain it with pleasure, So the He - be were thou.

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308

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

3rd verse.

fi| 1 p 1

— * jf

1 k,^ 1

mm

if j F>i

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You, who call it dis - hon - our, To bow to this flame, If you've eyes, look but

« . -

on her, And blush, while you blame.

Hath the pearl less whiteness Be

cause of its birth ? Hath the vio - let less brightness For grow - ing near earth ?

Pi

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espress.

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BY

4th verse.

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THE FEAL'S WAVE BENIGHTED.

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No — Man, for his

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glo - ry, To An - ces - try

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flies; While *\

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310 MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

AS VANQUISHED ERIN.

With expression.

AIR — THE BOTNE WATER.

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As van-quish'd E - rin wept be - side The Boyne's ill - fa - ted ri - ver, She

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saw where Dis-cord, in the tide, Had dropp'd his load - ed qui - ver. " Lie

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as

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hid," she cried, " ye ve - nom'd darts, Where mor - tal eye may shun you, — Lie

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the

stain of hearts That

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you."

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AS VANQUISH'D ERIN.

311

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2nd verse.

But vain her wish — her weep- ing vain, As Time too well hath taught her— Each

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year the Fiend re - turns a - gain, And dives in - to that wa - ter ; And

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brings, tri - umph- ant, from be - neath His shafts of de - so

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sends them, wing'd with worse than death, Through-out her madd'ning Na - tion.

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312

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

3rd verse.

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A - las for her, who sits and mourns, Ev'n now, be - side that

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ver — Un-

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wea - ried still the Fiend re - turns, And stored is still his qui - ver. " "When

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will this end, ye Pow'rs of Good ! " She weep - ing asks for ev - er ; But

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on - ly hears, from

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out that flood, The

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"Nev-er!"

T

BY THAT LAKE, WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE.

3i:

BY THAT LAKE, WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE.*

Moderate time.

AIR — THE BROWN IRISH GIFiL.

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S A" "K N !

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By that Lake, whose gloomy shore Sky - lark nev - er warbles o'er,f Where the

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clifl" hangs high and steep, Young Saint Ke - vin stole to sleep. "Here, at

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least," he calm-ly said, "Wo -man ne'er shall find my bed." Ah! the

iii

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• This ballad is founded upon one of the many stories related of
St. Kevin, -whose bed in the rock is to be seen at Glendalough, a
most gloomy and romantic spot in the county of Wicklow.

t There are many other curious traditions concerning this lake,
which may be found in Giraldls, Coiqas, «&c.

314

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

5=S

good Saint lit - tie knew "What that wi - ly sex can do. Ah ! the

m

&

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good Saint lit - tie knew What that wi - ly sex can do

mm

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2nd verse.

'Twas from Kath-leen's eyes he flew, Eyes of

mm

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most un - ho - ly blue! She had loved him

well and long, Wish'd him

f

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hers nor thought it wrong. Where - so - e'er the Saint would fly, Still he

BY THAT LAKE, WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE.

JS

315

heard her light foot nigh ; East or

St J

west, wher - e'er he turn'd, Still her

Si

ii

eyes be - fore him burn'd. East or west, wher - e'er he turn'd, Still her

IS

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eyes be - fore him burn'd.

r r Utt r-r

in.

On the bold cliff's bosom cast,
Tranquil now he sleeps at last ;
Dreams of heav'n, nor thinks that e'er
Woman's smile can haunt him there ;
But nor earth, nor heaven is free
From her power, if fond she be :
Even now, while calm he sleeps,
Kathleen o'er him leans and weeps.

IT.

Fearless she had track'd his feet
To this rocky, wild retreat ;
And when morning met his view,
Her mild glances met it too.
Ah ! your Saints have cruel hearts !
Sternly from his bed he starts,
Aud with rude, repulsive shock,
Hurls her from the beetling rock.

v.

Grlendalough ! thy gloomy wave
Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave ;
Soon the Saint (yet, ah ! too late)
Felt her love, and mourn'd her fate.
When he said " Heav'n rest her soul !"
Bound the Lake hght music stole ;
And her ghost was seen to glide,
Smiling, o'er the fatal tide !

316

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

THEY KNOW NOT MY HEART.

Tenderly.

AIR — COOLON DAS.
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They know not my heart, who be - lieve there can be

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stain of this earth in its feel - ings for thee ;

Who

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think, while I

see thee

I

in beau - ty's young hour, As pure as the

si

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THEY KNOW NOT MY HEART

317

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morn - in

g's first dew on the flow'r, I coulc

. harm what I

love — as the

mm.

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Sun's wan - ton ray

But smiles on the dew - drop, to waste it

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2nd verse.

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No — beam - ing with light as those young fea - tures are, There's a

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light round thy heart which is love li • ei

far ,

It

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318

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

El

is not that cheek-

't is the soul, dawn - ing clear Thro' its in - no - cent

H 1

3

£:

£:

3

3

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blush, makes thy beau - ty so dear ; As the sky we look up to, though

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glo - rious and fair,

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the more, be - cause Hea -ven

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there !

OH ! COULD WE DO WITH THIS WORLD OF OURS.

319

OH! COULD WE DO WITH THIS WORLD OF OURS.

Lively.

AIR

—BASKET OF OYSTERS.

!

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Oh. ! could we do with this world of ours As thou dost with thy gar - den bow'rs, Re-

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ject the weeds and keep the flow'rs, What a hea-ven on earth we'd make it!

a

4 4 =g=i

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320

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

4 4

4 4

J*±3t

fs — r->-

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bright

a dwell - ing should be our own, So warrant-ed free from

m

w

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sigh

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or frown,

That an - gels soon would be com-ing down, By the

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week or month to take it.

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Like those gay flies that

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wing thro' air, And in them - selves a lus - tre bear, A stock of light, still

IE

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OH! COULD WE DO WITH THIS WORLD OF OURS.

321

ready there, When- ev - er they wish to use it ; So, in this world I 'd

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make for thee, Our
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hearts should all like

•

fire

flies

1

be,

And the

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flash of wit or po - e - sy Break forth when - ev-er we choose it.

at

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3rd verse.

While ev' - ry joy that glads our sphere Hath still some sha - dow

a*

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322

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

5F3

hov' - ring near, In this new world of ours, my dear, Such

mf

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shadows will all be o - mit - ted : — Un - less they 're like that grace - ful one Which,

eft

33

ar-

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when thou 'rt danc - ing in the sun, Still

-JlfSf i 1 - j — =i 1 — =i <— =i — ! — I—

near thee, leaves a

■ i

charm up - oi

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spot where it

hath flit

ted.

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THE DREAM OF THOSE DAYS.

323

THE DREAM OF THOSE DAYS.*

•

£2. •

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The dream of those days when first I sung thee is o'er, Thy

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tri - umph hath stain'd the charm thy sor - rows then wore, And ev'n of the

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light which Hope once shed o'er thy chains, A - las, not a gleam to grace

thv

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-(9 0-

* Written in one of those moods of hopelessness and disgust which come occasionally orer the mind, in contemplating the present st*i*
of Irish patriotism.

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MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES

±=£z

free - dom re - mains.

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Say, is

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that slave - ry sunk so deep in thy heart, That

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still the dark brand is there, though chain - less thou art ; And Free-dom's sweet

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fruit, for which thy spi - rit long burn'd, Now, reaching at last thy lip, to

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ash - es hath turn'd.

33

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THE DEEAM OF THOSE DAYS.

3rd verse.

3

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Tip Li - ber - ty's steep by Truth and

lo - quence led, "With

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SEE

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eyes on her tern - pie fix'd, bow proud was tby tread ! Ah, bet - ter thou

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ne'er hadst lived that sum - mit to gain, Or died in the porch, than

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thus dis - hon - our the fane.

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dim. e rallentando.

SEE

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326

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

THOUGH HUMBLE THE BANQUET.

In moderate time and with spirit.

AIR — FAREWELL, EAMON.

Hi fffn^

* : t i1 i

p e soave.

3

I

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Though hum - ble the ban - quet to which I in -

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vite thee, Thou 'It find there the best a poor bard can com-mand : Eyes,

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beam - ing with wel - come, shall throng round to light thee, And Love serve the

3

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THOUGH HUMBLE THE BANQUET.

327

I

feast with his own will - ing hand.

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2nd verse.

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And though For - tune may seem to have turn'd from the

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as

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dwell - ing Of him thou re - gard - est her fa - vour - ing ray, Thou wilt

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find there a gift all her trea - sures ex - eel - ling, Which, proud - ly he

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feels, hath en - no - bled his way

328

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

3rd verse.

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'T is that free - dom of mind, which no vul - gar do

5

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min - ion Can turn from the path a pure con -science ap-proves; Which, with

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hope in the heart, and no chain on the pin - ion, Holds up - ward its

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course to the light which it loves.

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4th verse.

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'T is this makes the pride of his hum - ble re

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THOUGH HUMBLE THE BANQUET.

329

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treat, And, witli this, though of all

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cry?.?.

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breeze of his gar - den to him is more sweet Than the cost - li - est

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in - cense that Pomp e'er re - ceived.

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Then, come, — if a board so untempting hath power
To win thee from grandeur, its best shall be thine ;

And there 's one, long the light of the bard's happy bower,
Who, smiling, will blend her bright welcome with mine.

330

MOOEE'S IRISH MELODIES.

SING, SWEET HARP, OH SING TO ME.

With mournful expression.

AIR — UNKNOWN.*

4^

6 •

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M

30

5

Sing, sweet Harp, oh sing to me Some song of an - cient days, Whose

i

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sounds, in this sad me - mo - ry, Long bu - ried dreams shall raise ;-

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Some lay that tells of van-ish'd fame, Whose light once round us shone;

Of

1

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4

• This graceful air has already been provided with words not unworthy of its beauty, in a collection of " Select Melodies," published
by Mr. Smith, of Edinburgh.

SINGr, SWEET HARP, OH SING TO ME.

331

4-

no - ble pride, now turn'd to shame, And hopes for cv - er gone.

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i t

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sing, sad Harp, thus sing to me, A - like our doom is cast, Both

i

TV

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SEE

mong thy chords doth sigh, As if it sought some echo there Of voices long gone by : —

^ V%J- TfJ j^: *,

332

MOOEE'S IRISH MELODIES.

Of Chieftains, now for - got, who beam'd The fore - most then in fame ;

Of

1^

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Bards who, once im - mor - tal deem'd, now sleep with - out

a name. — In

J>p ritard".

Be

vain, sad Harp, the mid - night air A - mong thy chords doth sigh ; In

I

3

7

If

vain it seeks an e - cho there Of voices long gone by.

fc

— — " • -J- -j

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3kd verse.

— BE$E

Could'st thou but call those spi - rits round Who

3

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SING, SWEET HARP, OH, SING TO ME. 333

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ist'n-ing to thy ma

* — * —

gic sound,— Now rn

ute and rn<

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'juld'ring all.

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But, no — they would but wake to weep Their chil-dren's sla - ve - ry ; — Then

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leave them in their dream - less sleep, The Dead, at least, are free —

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hush, sad Harp, that drea - ry tone, That knell of Free - dom's day, Or,

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list'ning to its death-like moan, Let me, too, die a -way.

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334

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

SONG OF THE BATTLE-EYE.

TO-MORROW, COMRADE. WE.

With martial and melancholy spirit, not too slow.

AIR — CRUISKEEN LAWN.

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To - mor - row, Com-rade, we On the bat - tie - plain must

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be, There to con - quer or both lie low, lie low !

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morning star is up, But there 's wine still in the cup, And we '11 take an - o - ther

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quaff, ere we go, boy, go — We '11 take an - 0 - ther quaff, ere we go.

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* There is, Lei this single note, a deviation from the original setting of the Air.

TO-MORROW, COMRADE, WE.

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'Tis true, in man-licst eyes A pass - ing tear will

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rise,

To think of the friends we leave lone, all

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what can wail -ing do? See, our gob - let 's weep-ing too! With its tears, then, let us

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chase our own, boy, our own, With its tears, then, let us chase our own.

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336

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

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But day-light's stealing on; — Oh! the last that o'er us

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next — ah ! where shall we And those ros - y ur - chins be ? But — no mat - ter — grasp thy

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sword and a - way, boy, a - way ; No matter — grasp thy sword and a - way !

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TO-MORROW, COMRADE, WE.

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Let those who brook the chain Of Sax - on or of

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Dane, Ig - no - bly by their fire

sides stay, aye, stay ; One

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sigh to home be giv'n, One heart-felt pray'r to Heav'n, Then, for E - rin and her cause, boy, hur-

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ra ! hur - ra ! hur - ra ! Then, for E - rin and her cause, hur - ra !

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338

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

THE WANDERING BARD.
WHAT LIFE LIKE THAT OF THE BARD CAN BE.

With vivacity and e

xpresmn.
—

T^=r

AIK— PLANXTY O'REILLY.

ft — * 1 — •

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life

like that of the Bard can be, — The wand' - ring Bard, who

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roams as free As the mount - ing lark that o'er him sings, And,

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WHAT LIFE LIKE THAT OF THE BARD CAN BE.

339

like that lark,

tor

mu

sic

brings With - in him, wher - e'er ho

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comes or goes, — A fount that for ev - er flows !

The world's to him like

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some bright ground, Where fai

ries dance their moon

light round ; — If

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the turf where late they trod,

The elves

but

35

seek some

3;

green

er

sod ;

So, when

less bright his scene

of glee, To an-

340

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

2nd yebse.

3i

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o- ther a - way flies he !

Oh,

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what would have been

young Beau - ty's doom, "With - out

a Bard to

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fix

her bloom? They tell us that in the moon's bright round Things

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lost

in this dark world

are

found :

So charms

on earth long

i !

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pass'd and gone, In the po - et's lay live on ! — Then would ye have smiles that

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WHAT LIFE LIKE THAT OF THE BARD CAN BE.

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ne'er grow dim, You've on - ly

to

give

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to him,

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with but a touch of Fan - cy's

mm

wand, Can lend them life,
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this
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in Po

life be - yond, And fix them high

e - sy's sky, — Young

stars

that nev - er

die.

I

Then, welcome the bard where'er he comes, —
For, though he hath countless airy homes,
To which his -wing excursive roves,
Yet still, from time to time, he loves
To light upon earth and find such cheer
As brightens our banquet here.
No matter how fleet, how far he flies,
You 've only to light up hind young eyes, —
Such signal -fires as here are given, —
And down he '11 drop from Fancy's heaven,
The minute such call to love or mirth
Proclaims he 's wanting on earth !

ten.

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342

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

ALONE IN CROWDS TO WANDER ON.

Mournfully.

AIE— SHULE AEOON.

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A - lone in crowds to wan-der on, And feel that all the

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charm is goneTVhich voi-ces dear and eyes beloved Shed round us once, wher-e'er we roved,

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This — this the doom must be

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Of all who 've loved, and lived

to

The

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ALONE IN CROWDS TO WANDER ON.

343

few bright things they thought would stay For ev-cr near them, die a- way.

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2nd verse.

^— t—

Tho' fair - er forms a-round us throng, Their smiles to o - thers

s

333

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all be-long, And want that lightwhich dwells alone Round those the fond heart calls its own.

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Where, where the sun-ny brow ? The long-known voice — where are they now ? Thus

51

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still, nor ask in vain, — The si - lence an - swers all too plain.

ask

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344

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

3rd verse.

5=S

p — *■

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Oh ! what is Fancy's ma-gic worth, If all her art can-

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not call forth One bliss like those we felt of old From lips now mute, and eyes now cold !
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No, — no, her spell is vain, As soon could she bring back a - gain Those

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eyes them-selves from out the grave, As wake a - gain one bliss they gave.

dim.

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QUICK ! WE HAVE BUT A SECOND.

345

QUICK! WE HAVE BUT A SECOND.

Lively. AIR — PADDY SNAP.

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346

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

i

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3^

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keep sweet hours from dy - ing, Or charm them to life a - gain — Then,

i

quick ! we have but a se - cond, Fill round the cup while you may, For

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52

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Time, the churl, hath beckon'd, And we must a - way, — a -way !

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2nd verse.

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See

the glass, how it flush - es, Like some young He - he's lip, And

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QUICK ! WE HAVE BUT A SECOND.

317

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half meets thine, and blush-es That thou should'st de - lay

to

sip.

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Shame,
=p

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shame ui

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to

thee, If
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ev

- er thou see'st

V-

that

day, When a

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cup

or lip shall woo thee, And turn untouch'd a - way ! Then

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quick ! we have but a

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m

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Time, the churl, hath beckon'd, And we must a- way, — a -way !

3^3

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348

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

AS SLOW OUR SniP HE Pi FOAMY TRACK.

Li moderate time and with expression.

AIR — THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME.

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As slow our ship her foam - y track A - gainst the wind was cleav-ing, Her

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trem - bling pen - nant still look'd back To that dear isle 't was leav - ing. So

I

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loath we part from all we love, From all the links that bind

us ; So

i

AS SLOW OUR SHIP HER FOAMY TRACK.

?A<J

turn our hearts, wher - e'er we rove, To those we 've left be - hind

us

as

r

r

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HE

'^1 ^ >

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n -. — ii

II.

"When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years

"We talk, with joyous seeming,
And smiles that might as well be tears,

So faint, so sad their beaming ;
While memory brings us back again

Each early tie that twined us,
Oh sweet 's the cup that circles then

To those we 've left behind us !

in.

And, when in other climes we meet

Some isle or vale enchanting,
Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet,

And nought but love is wanting ;
We think how great had been our bliss,

If Heaven had but assign'd us
To live and die in scenes like this,

With some we 've left behind us !

IV.

As travelers oft look back, at eve,

When eastward darkly going,
To gaze upon that light they leave

Still faint behind them glowing, —
So, when the close of pleasure's day

To gloom hath near consign'd us,
We turn to catch one fading ray

Of iov that 's left behind us.

350

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

IN THE MORNING OF LIFE.

In moderate tii

4i? a;
■ — t

id with feeling.

* f

A

rr

[R— THE LITTLE HARVEST ROSE.

* —

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In the morning of life, when its cares are unknown, And its pleasures in all their new

lus - tre be-gin ; When we live in a bright-beam - ing world of our own, And the

EES

* — 0

't is not, be - lieve me, in

1

air,

light that sur - rounds us is all from with - in ; Oh

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IN THE MORNING OF LIFE.

351

that hap-py time We can love, as in hour3 of less trans - port we may; Of our

Jc:

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smiles, of our hopes, 't is the gay sun - ny prime, But af - fee - tion is warm - est when

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aese fade a - way.

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II.

When we see the first charm of our youth pass us by,

Like a leaf on the stream that will never return ;
When our cup, which had sparkled with pleasure so high,

Now tastes of the other, the darK- flowing urn ;
Then, then is the moment affection can sway

With a depth and a tenderness joy never knew ;
Love, nursed among pleasures, is faithless as they,

But the Love, born of Sorrow, like Sorrow is true !

in.

In climes full of sunshine, though splendid their dyes,

Yet faint is the odour the flowers shed about ;
'T is the clouds and the mists of our own weeping skies.

That call their full spirit of fragrancy out.
So the wild glow of passion may kindle from mirth.

But 't is only in grief true affection appears ; —
To the magic of smiles it may first owe its birth.

But the soul of its sweetness is drawn out by tears !

352

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

THE NIGHT - DANCE.
STRIKE THE GAY HARP! SEE THE MOON IS ON HIGH.

With liveliness and spirit.

AIR — THE NIGHTCAP.

*

1—

§—

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Strike the
\

gay

harp !
v.

see

the

moon

is

on

high, And,

-0-

as

true
\

to

her

beam

as

the

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tides of the o-cean, Young hearts, when they feel the soft light of her eye, 0-

:js v

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bey the mute call and heave in - to mo - tion. Then, sound notes— the

4-

* It is right to mention that the Air is, in this and the seven following bars, transferred to the accompaniment and symphony, being too
high for the voice.

STRIKE THE GAY HARP !

353

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gay - est, t

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ev - er took wing when

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heav'n look'd brightest ! A-

ft r

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gain ! A - gain !

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Oh!

could such heart-stir-ring

mu -

sic

be

heard

In

-0-

that

Ci -

ty

of Sta

- tues de-

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scribed by ro - manc-ers, So waken-ing its spell, ev - en stone would be stirr'd, And

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sta - tues them - selves all start in - to danc-ers !

354

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

• it

- ; T- :=

1 • * i

f-ET r-r.r -

2nd veese.

* * * =3=

IE

Why then de - lay, with such sounds in our ears, And the flow - er of Beau-ty's own

i

i

gar - den be - fore us, While stars o - ver - head leave the song of their spheres, And,

EE

^ 4

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ning to ours, hang won - der - ing o'er us. A - gain that strain ! — to

list'

3

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hear it thus sound-ing Might set ev'n Death's cold puis - es bound-ing, — A-

STRIKE THE GAY HARP !

355

#=r=e=p=

gain ! A - gain !

i

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31

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Oh ! what a bliss, when the youth -ful and gay, Each with eye like a sun - beam and

-

m

=3=

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foot like a fea - ther, As dance the young Hours to the mu - sic of Mav, Thus

rr — * *

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min - gle sweet song and sun - shine to - ge - ther.

i

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356 MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

HAS SORROW THY YOUNG DAYS SHADED.

Simp<y and tender^.

AIR — SLY PATRICK.*

mm

'Mi i 1 r • —

J. N

ft*

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Has sor- row thy young days shad - ed, As clouds o'er the morn-ing

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fleet ? Too fast have those young days fad - ed, That e - ven in sor - row were

— a

—*

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sweet ? Does Time with his cold wing wi - ther Each feel - ing that once was
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«—«-«-

dear ? — Come, child of mis - for - tune ! hi - ther, I '11 weep with thee tear for tear.

M P 4

V :J V rj: -f ■ i*. r ^: zg: V * V 5

3

* To the Gentleman who favoured me with this Air, I am indebted for many other old and beautiful Melodies, from which, if ever we
resume this Work, I shall be able to make a very interesting selection

HAS SORROW THY YOUNG DAYS SHADED.

357

r^J-*-*— «

—

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1 1

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f ff f

2nd verse.

- s ^

11

Has Love to that soul so ten - der Been like our La - ge - nian mine,

Where a

^ ^

: s 1 j s :

i

3

spar - kle of gold - en splen - dour All

ver the sur - face shine?

: * : : * 1 * « *

■? — ^ — 3—5-

.«*.

Il

-»—i-¥-*

But if in pur - suit we go deep - er, Al - lured by the gleam that shone, Ah !

-0-0 — 0-

SO

a-

g j — jj — *

false as the dream of the sleep - er, Like Love the bright ore is gone.

is:

St

AMI

i

i — r — .-1 — i

H J 1 » i i i

1 1

Hs, — =—

J-f— f *

- 4

I

L

— J-

=*=W

— 9 — 3 —

• Our Wicklow Gold-Mines, to which this verse alludes, deserve, I fear, the character here given of them.

3 B

358

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

3rd verse.

s —

\

vfl

' • — 1

— •

■ 4

1 — *o

Has Hope, like the bird in the sto - ry,* That flit - ted from tree to tree With the
d~. s=m , 1 1 . r-i—1 1 1 1 N

ii

3

"3

4t

ta - lis - man's glit - t'ring glo - ry — Has hope been that bird to thee?

f

r

tzt

■V ™

On branch af - ter branch a - light - ing, The gem did she still dis - play, And, when

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—e ;

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-| gj»

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Sr

= p-^

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near - est and most

m -

vit - ing, Then waft the fair gem a - way !

I

1

-V

i + * ' *

3

Pi

pn^ J- w

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r— r — ,J

1

i e ? ii

* " The bird, having got its prize, settled not Gu off with the talisman in its mouth,
but, as he approached, the bird took wing, and settled again," &c. — Arabian Nights—
China

The prince drew near it, hoping it would drop it ;
Story of Kummir al Zummaun and the Princess of

HAS SORROW THY YOUNG DAYS SHADED.

359

4th verse.

-N-

N J J M

— »—

—

*- — 0 J 0

0

—d •

i-i— J

If thus the sweet hours have fleet - ed, When sor - row her- self look'd bright ;

If

a;

f

- 0 ■

IS

thus the fond hope has cheat - ed, That led thee a - long so light ;

i — i f

_ . , — ■ i •

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— r-

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If thus the un - kind world with - er Each feel-ing that once was dear ; — Come,

i

3V

^-v— ^

child of mis - for - tune ! come hi - ther, I '11 weep with thee tear for tear.

I

-0- *

EE

j !d_

360

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

OH! ARRANMORE, LOVED ARRANMORE.

i

U i-r-

^ —

Oh. ! Ar - ran-more, loved Ar - ran-more, How oft I dream of thee, And of those days when,

1^

m

^3

EE

» i r

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by thy shore, I wander'd young and free. Full ma - ny a path I've

3F

EE

j-j

i

:2 *

P ' *

tried, since then, Through pleasure's flow'r-y maze, But ne'er could find the bliss a - gain I
— N~

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— *i —

=5=

-q — p-

OH ! ARRANMORE, LOVED ARRANMORE.

361

— r> — ts — .. .. r

felt in those sweet da

i

ys-

-si-a —

• -*-

^ ^ *1 £ =1 1

dolce.

0 \-

i

2nd verse.
— IV

li

How blithe up - on thy breez - y cliffs At sun - ny morn I 've

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3

=2=£

_ _

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? — v — * — * ~ -

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stood, "With heart as bound- ing as the skiffs That danced a - long thy flood ;

3=*

3^

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r

in

"i *'

Or when the west - era wave grew bright With Day-light's part - ing wing,

=g 1 N

Have

i t t

I

It

7 V

-» „ —

* — r*

sought that E - den in its light Which dream-ing po - ets sing ; * —

3:

—

« 4 %

dolrr.

9

— ^

SI

* " The inhabitants of Arranmore are still persuaded that, in a clear day, they can see from this coast Hy Brysail or the Enchanted
Island, the Paradise of the Pagan Irish, and concerning which they relate a number of romantic stories."— Beaufort's Ancient Topography
of Ireland.

362

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

3bd verse

is

is

That E-den, where th'immor-tal brave Dwell in a land se - rene, "Whose
UN II: I y ^ r

-a— a

3

U IS F

3

i

•g — g — f-

e

55

bow'rs be - yond the shin - ing wave, At sun - set oft are seen.
1

Ah,

r

1

#

* . . M:

— b — * — »

, • — •- m a

—J? * * . * 1 ■

dream too full of sadd' - ning truth ! Those man - sions o'er the main Are

3^

3==*

m

W. 0

s —

0 largo.

/ — /

m

*

Sr

S

0

— F —

— ' 1*-2!---

like the hopes I built in youth, As sun - ny and as vain !

rail".

^ — #

— i —

f

— ^

ifaf

LAY HIS SWORD BY HIS SIDE.

363

LAY HIS SWORD BY HIS SIDE.

With melancholy feeling and energy.

AIR — IF TIIE SF.A WEBS INK.

J—*-!* I^N I ■ a „ — — ■» i-gl.^—

-F — »— -b-j— fe-

f jp f q« f - —

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m

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Lay his sword by his side—* it hath served him too well, Xot to

IN

— t-

1 —

=3-

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=i^— t-^ I r

— d • ■ a

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rest near his pil - low be - low ;

To the last mo - ment true, from his

m

f

a*

ri-

fe

r

1

EES

hand

ere it

fell, Its point still was turn'd to a fly - ing foe. Fel - low -

t

♦ i *

* It was the custom of the ancient Irish, in the manner of the Scythians, to bury the favourite swords of their hsroes alor.g with them.

364

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

to?

lab'rers in life, let them slumber in death, Side by side, as be - comes the re -

i

—

~N r

5

— 0-

pos - ing brave, — The sword which he loved still un - broke in its sheath, And him

a <t> „

■m

r

r

2-C

self un - sub - dued in his grave.

A:

2XD VEKSE.

5=^

— — « * —

Yet pause — for, in fan - cy, a still voice I hear, As if

-) 1-4-

Jr-=-

#—0-

breath'd from his brave heart's re-mains

g

3

Eaint

cho of that which in

f

— p_= — i

i

m

LAY niS SWORD BY HIS SIDE.

Sla - ve - ry's car Once sound - cd the war - word, " Bunt your chains ! " And it

m f

i

f

0 0 P p-f£=j M =r

cries, from the grave where the He - ro lies deep, "Tho' the day of your Chieftain for

3=r

qi| z

fs * -q

Lj> J lvrr=NrF

— V * * -:

ev - er hath set, Oh leave not his sword thus in - glo - rious to sleep, — It hath

3si

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35=3=

• -9

Tie - to - ry's life in it vet.

ft

J. S i*i

-m-

mf -r

-f^ — ^

— ^ 3r3a ^ m

-M — Mr

-m — jl- jL

" Should some alien, unworthy such weapon to wield.
Dare to touch thee, my own gallant sword,
Then rest in thy sheath, like a talisman seal'd,
Or return to the grave of thy chainless lord.
But, if grasp'd by a hand that hath known the bright use

Of a falchion, like thee, on the battle-plain, —
Then, at Liberty's summons, like lightning let loose,
Leap forth from thy dark sheath again ! "

a c

366

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

SHE SUXG OF LOVE.

With expression.

AIR — THE MCXSTER MA.V.

. ? • f If . #

■* *

— 1

— 1 1

? 4

r

— . v

— 0 0

-* P — •

m 4 d

¥ — * — /-

She sung of Love — while o'er her lyre

The ro - sv

m

^' P9 4^

- •

\

A — V-=^

rays of ev'n - ing

-i =i — t-r — w-

—m 1 * — V \r-

fell, As if to

1 r • ; c ^

feed with their soft

J p -J-"*

r a » a * —

9 9 V

— N = * =j N a

—J ! « 1 « !

I

that trem - bling shell.

The same rich

0 EE

V >-

light

hung o'er her cheek,

And play'd a - round

m

those lips, that
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-= »-

0

— *

i r

EE

SHE SUNG OF LOVE

t

3G7

sung,

A.nd spoke as flowers would sing and speak, If Love could

p^-urf3 r^-^fs

3 — F-

1 — »

5 — F

* — i»

3

lend their leaves a tongue.

IE

L m 0 »

i

a ,_

2nd verse.

» • N

IE

-.» — 0 — 0

~j — « — y »

-*H — *

V:

m m m

y — /

But soon the West no longer burn'd, Each ro - sy

—

dim

do. V

3E5

3j i EE i

« * mm

It

1 F » m —

U s —

ray from heav'n with

-J — — — t-c — p-

Irew ; And when to

^ k-k — , —

gaze a - gain I

— r^j— • — f^~* — —

*V * 1 * =h- J 1-

~0-

LJ_2_ — J « 4 * ■

i r 1 > - =

1 J 1 C — — =l_

— * — — 1 — m — i — 0 —

368

m

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

r-r-r%

V V

1

light and Heav'n's were one,

The glo - ry all

had left that

m

m

mm

IF

i

» — f

• *

F —

r •

w

k-1

frame, And from her glim - m'ring lips the tone, As from a

\> ^-i ^ ^ i — rf^z

-q — F

r f-

part

ing spi - rit, came.

J dim.

'Ajr\r-f s-^f

f m ' W \ym . 0

Who ever loved, but had the thought

That he and all he loved must part ?
Fill'd with this fear, I flew and caught

That fading image to my heart —
And cried, " Oh Love ! is this thy doom ?

Oh light of youth's resplendent day !
Must ye then lose your golden bloom,

And thus, like sunshine, die away ? "

* Tae thought here was suggested by some beautiful lines in Mr. Rogers's Poem of Human Life, beginning—
" Now in the glimmering, dying light she grows
Less and less earthly."

I would quote the entire passage, but that I fear to put my own humble imitation of it out of countenance

SING -SING— MUSIC WAS GIVEN

360

SING — SING— MUSIC WAS GIVEN.

AIR — THE HUMOURS OF BALLAMAGUIRY ; OR, TnE OLD LAXGOLEE.

— y^r— 11 ~t~t=\ i I I I [ it ti\ tt it i

t

r/

0 0 0 0 r

* iK — fK —

o — » 9 — F— -

-i .U—
-*— j- ,

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— i —

-EdEjC-u 1

ft

L,

n N-

=E N . 1

P~

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— v-

— i

. * J f-

Z l * • #

- -# -

Souls here, like plan - ets in Heaven, By har - mo - ny's laws a - lone are kept mov - ing.

370

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

M ^ — Is — - — m . p -b-

If- p : 'rJ Jv

f-N J* . , » ¥ F

w-^ — - — F— F — 5 — W

■ ■ -

? t> > ^

Beau - ty may boast of her eyes and her cheeks, T3ut Love from the lips his true

« * J TH J :

• 55 • «—

» s —

1 1 =4-

' 1

hr . i i

1 —

K 0 »

* — r-t

ar - che - ry wings ; And she who but feathers the dart, when she speaks, At

i

^3

—

once sends it home to

the heart when she sings. Then sing — sing — Mu - sic was
~T=J

-4-0- -#-

"9-"

J i J

I

giv - en, To bright-en the gay, and kin - die the lov - ing ; Souls here, like

B:

IB

plan - ets in Heav - en, By har - mo - ny's laws a - lone are kept mov - ing.

SING —SING— MUSIC WAS GIVEN

m

m

^^^^^^^

1 ::

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1 1 — ,

— 0 — 0 -

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*_i — «_

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2nd verse.

"When Love, rock'd by kis mo - tker, Lay sleep-ing as calm as slura-ber could make kim,

& ^ ' ^

"Husk, kusk," said Ve-nus, "no o - tker Sweet voice but kis own is wor-tkv to wake kim."

i — h- ;
j— « — i — « — ■

— ! s i •

4

mi

"1 . '1 ^

LJ-J — *— * — 3-L

-4-

- —* = » a

a

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k .

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'

-A - k_

Dream-ing of ^mu - sic, ke slum-ber'd tke wkile, Till faint from kis lip a soft

□czt

me - lo - dy broke, And Ye - nus, en - ckant-ed, look'd on witk a smile, "VTkile

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

— E > J — r< — c"

N N i g

V. N — r

^ — # — ^ — 0 — ■ — * — -p

— f> *

; ?: ' J-»

plan - ets in Heav - en, By har - mo - ny's laws a - lone are kept mov - ing.

—1 — Z 1 l

F^j — "i h — H

— \ " 4 4 J

2 H ? H—

i

-«

— 4

a^_j — — j — ! ^_

i i i ^

3 £-1

THE WINE-CUP IS CIRCLING.

373

THE WINE -CUP IS CIRCLING.

In march time, and with spirit.

AIR— MICHAEL HOT.

Hi

ill li '.Cf Cf Lf If 1 r H JJ

The wine - cup is cir - cling in. Aim - hin's hall,* And its

a

-* a « «

(

3E5

EE

# — #-

9 m = m - 1

> N £ — I

■ V E L

J i j — r — st

■ — v — • ' •

S> =^ L

Chief, 'mid his heroes re- clin - in g, Looks up, with a sigh, to the trophied wall, Where his

— 1

—&

I •

— 4— 1

1 — «

falchion hangs id - ly shin - ing When, hark! that shout From the vale with-out; "Aim ye

• The Palace of Finn Mac-Cumhal (the Fingal of Macpherson)
m Leinster. It was built on the top of the hill, which has retained
from thence the name of the Hill of Allen, in the County of Kildare.
The Finians, or Fenii, were the celebrated National Militia of Ite-

land, which this Chief commanded. The introduction of the Dart-*
in the above song is an anachronism common to most of the Finiar.
and Ossianic legends.

3 n

374

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES

quick, the Dano, the Dane is nigh ! " Ev' - ry Chief starts up From his

see

i ± i

-

foam - ing iup, And "To bat - tie, on to bat -tie!" is the Fin - ian's cry.

m

is

-

2nd yekse.

~N

p — g — I T f ft f :

ft

■ r i »

V 4-

The min-strels have seized their harps of gold, And they

• • • <m*.

f

i

F3-— ^ .

— 4

m- -

t M t X

t •

p

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4 • • znL

siug such thrilling numbers, — Oh ! it seems like the voice of the Dead, of old, Break-ing

-Fir H "i F

JlrL^i e i r

THE WINE-CUP IS CIRCLING.

.375

-*- -#- -4-

forth from their place of slum - bers ! Spear to buck-ler rang As the minstrels sang, And the

5=k

1 d ItPt

St

* — #

BE

H i' i r

• • •

1 — y

1/ > 1/

3

Sun - burst * o'er them float - ed wide ; While, re - memb'ring the yoke Which their

I

5E

» S s

« — ♦ — #

■0 — 0

fathers broke, "On for lib - er - ty, for lib - er- ty!" the Fin - ians cried.

5

mm

1ST- ±

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JW 1 JJJ I

5 — H —

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Like clouds of the night the Northmen came,

O'er the valley of Almhin lowering ;
While onward moved, in the light of its fame,
That banner of Erin, towering.

With the mingling shock

Ring cliff and rock,
While, rank on rank, the invaders die ;

And the shout, that last

O'er the dying pass'd,
Was "victory!" was "victory !"— the Fiuian's cry.

The name given to the banner of the Irish.

376

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

FROM THIS HOUR THE PLEDGE IS GIVEN

1 — f — ~

— # —

— 0

, i

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From

♦I

this

hour

=4=

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the

pledge

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is giv -

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en,

From this

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hr t r -

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hour my soul is 1

J r r // g

;hine : Come wha1

;will, fn

i , _ ^ _ - —

>m earth or

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heav - en, Weal or

— " -T^j- ■

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j J J-l

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woe, thy fate be mine. When the proud and great stood by thee, None

FROM THIS HOUR THE PLEDGE IS GIVEN.

377

dared thy rights to spurn, And when now they're false and fly thee, Shall

A 1=1 I =T~ ! 1 i — ?

• — g-

I too base - ly turn ?

No, — what-e'er the fires that try thee, In the

i

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3:

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rallentando.

i

same this heart shall burn.

v" 1~

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2nd verse.

f

r

i

BE

"0 —

est,

Though the sea where thou em - bark

— ps*-

Of - fers

f

r

r

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r

now no friend - ly shore, Light may come where all looks dark

est,

Hope hath

j j > * * i ^

3=f

r - ' *

— 0-

378

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

life, when life seems o'er.

r i

i

And of those past a - ges dream - ing, When

is

FT*

TP"

glo - ry deck'd thy brow,

Oft I fond - ly think, though seem - ing

80

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r-# ..... -1-3 -

fr- -f r — ^

N j fV— fc"

T r ■ / N

i * v _i — — i

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fall'n and clouded now,

Thou 'It a - gain break forth, all beam - ing — None so

i

J J J l

4 4 4 0-

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Jl^-J — ■ JJ . >

bright, so blest as

thou!

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, n f

-J f A

i 1 i

i nJ b«

r r r

t)\> J r 1 — P—

r — r

>f f r -

SILENCE IS IN OUR FESTAL HALLS.

379

SILENCE IS IN OUR FESTAL HALLS.

AIR — THE GREEN WOODS OP TRUIGIIA-

T==N

' E

u

W

' t » . ' .

« —

TF IT

i \ 1

± 1 1

i

Se

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• — i — #

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Si - lence is in our fes - tal halls,* Oh ! Son of Song, thy course is

-ft*

V 9

1 — a

— . — a — = =

= ^

" ^— f= r

1 fr- a=E c

— «

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o er ;

In vain on thee sad E - rin calls, Her

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1 1

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1 — * — — # i

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• It is hardly necessary, perhaps, to inform the reader that these lines are meant as a tribute of sincere friendship to the memory of in
old and valued colleague in this work, Sir John Stevenson.

380

MOOKE'S IRISH MELODIES.

min-strel's voice re- sponds no more : —

All

si - lent as th' E - o - lian

i r

5

shell

Doth, sleep

at close, at close of some bright day,

N a

xs

V

3EE

i r r

X

morendo.

—

— «

L^T * •

When the sweet breeze, that waked its swell At sun - ny morn, hath died a-

3

colla voce.

BE

SILEXCE IS EN OUR FESTAL HALLS.

•381

1

waked by mu - sic's spell, shall rise;

fc _ , i

For, name so link'd with

E

its:

35

5 s

S

death

less

song Par - takes its charm and nev

er

BE

3=fc

dies :

And ev'n with - in the ho - ly fane,

TVhen

\

A — L

s

m

i ?

mu

sic wafts the soul, the soul to heav'n, One thought to him, whoso

Ik

— " MV»* •> jDjET

rallen^.

ear

li - est strain "Was echoed there, shall long be giv'n.

382

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

£3

• IS | §

9E

I*

3rd verse.

K — Jr

But, where is now the cheer - ful day, The so - cial night, when, by thy

7

t> l> P ±

35

^ P-

-

^fc^ e =f 1

' — •

•

— = — *^

^

34

side,

He, who now weaves this part - ing lay, His

32

BEE

f i r

^ — ?

**- — k

fczzztc

skil - less voice with thine al - lied ;

i

ft

And sung those songs whose ev - rry

m

K — = =

=, , — —

•

. =, p

y

r

F

1

r

1

«

i~m n ^ -4

(1

tone,

When bard

and min - strel long, ah, long have past,

, 1 1 \

^k* \

1

1

P

U-i— -

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s=j— i

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SILENCE IS IN OUR FESTAL HALLS

3fc3

Shall

still, in sweet-ness all

their own, Em - balra'd by fame, un - dy - ing

Hi

; * -j - V- 1 /

BE

last.

dim.

15: *

4th verse.

Yes,

E - rin, thine a

lone

the fame — Or, if thv bard have shared the

*i r

i r

I

crown,

From

thee the bor-row'd glo

ry came, And

f 1 r-

ft

-3—

g g /

v ^

at thy feet is now laid down.

E - nough, if Free-dom still in-

5-7 »

r f -F

I

i r

384

MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES.

-* — g-g

spire

His

■b 1

la - - test song, and still, and still there be,

2—j I J =j=ld^

■*- -9- -3- -3- -#- •

s

1

i h

I • — dJ\* ' I I J ■ — #— — J —

r r

As ev'n-ing clos - es round his lyre, One ray up-on its chords from thee.

V =r :5: £T

THE END.